EPTMy mom likes to postulate that one of the reasons I was an early reader and excelled in school was that we didn't have a TV until I was six years old. If there's truth in that statement it would be more accurately said that it was because we didn't have any video games until I was six! Like many here I'm sure, I loved video games from a young age, finding in them not just recreation and entertainment, but a satisfying challenge and a sense of accomplishment and achievement. As a stubborn, perfectionist, intensely rational child (and now, adult), I loved the way video games were a compact, defined world with rules, goals, achievements and justice. Saving the princess, knocking out Mike Tyson and seeing every ending in Chrono Trigger were wonderful tonics for an intelligent, sensitive young boy who was constantly under fire from a society that tried and sadly continues to try to infuse children with a fundamental feeling of guilt for their own existence.
Fast forward a decade and I still enjoyed games, but now in a different aspect. I loved now the competition that the internet brought to gaming, and like so many here reveled in battles of Warcraft, Starcraft and Counter-Strike. I loved seeing the incredible achievement of progamers, and living out my own dreams of grandeur at LANs and tournaments: who remembers the CPL?! Although my gaming was centered now on a select few titles, as I became a financially independent adult, I began to collect the console games of my youth, scouring ebay for rare titles to fill in the gaps.
Soon, I had amassed hundreds of games across a variety of platforms, spending considerable amounts of money because--quite frankly--I had nothing else to spend it on. Now in graduate school and deeply unhappy with my life situation, I found in collecting what I had previously found in playing these games: a refuge. Fast-forward a little more, and "gaming" gave me the means to drop out of graduate school without a backup plan, playing online poker professionally and being lucky enough to support myself for many years doing so. My entire life revolved again revolved around a compact, defined world with rules, goals, achievements and (only occasionally in poker) justice.
Thus, by the time I was in my late 20's, games had gone from single-player fun, to multiplayer competition, to a full-fledged livelihood. Poker was the only game I played seriously and consistently at this point, but still I had my collection of console games, and it was growing. Stashed in drawers and tucked away on shelves, well over a hundred pounds of games, systems, merchandise and paraphernalia followed me as I moved from city to city. Scores of boxes were piled into Uhauls and lugged up and down stairs, games were stacked and packed and unpacked and packed again. Sometimes when I would get them out after a move, I'd discover that I had two copies of the same game because I had bought one and subsequently forgotten it was already in my collection!
There was only one thing: I wasn't playing any of them.
I would tell myself that someday, when I had time, I'd get all these old games out and play through them, relive adventures and characters, and experience new ones from the hundreds of games I'd bought but never played. In reality I had nothing but time since as a poker player I set my own hours, and whenever I would try to actually play, the magic was gone; boredom would set in within minutes, the game relegated back to the shelf or box with all its other unused friends. Secretly the thought of actually playing these games created feelings of anxiety and even guilt at the fact that I had spent so much money on things I never used, and depression that I couldn't find enjoyment in life.
It wasn't until I began to examine my life, my goals and dreams, that I realized that by collecting these games I was living in the past, deluding myself with nostalgia that I could somehow recreate boyhood joy. In reality as I grew and evolved as a person, my interests had changed and what I loved before, I no longer did. Silly though it may sound, I was forced to admit to myself that I no longer knew what I liked and was afraid to admit what I didn't like; I was painfully out of touch with myself. I think in a world where we are forever encouraged to live for others, to never ask ourselves what we want, what we need, or even who we are, this is incredibly common.
So I began a thorough process of introspection, questioning what belonged in my life, and what baggage--both emotional and literal--could be dispensed of. The experience was tremendously liberating. My collection had in some ways been a vain attempt to compensate for what I perceived as a life of failure and potential squandered: the Yale valedictorian turned Harvard dropout with no idea what he was doing or even where he wanted to go. The high hopes of my parents and professors dashed as I forsook research and science for raises and semi-bluffs. The act of collecting was a distraction, and the possession of things a weak attempt at recapturing the feelings of achievement and purpose of my youth. I was furiously trying to live in a non-existent world where one's mission was clear--save the princess, one's skills were tangible--press A to jump, and one's achievement was profound and complete--the credits roll and the screen flashes "The End." Obviously, this isn't the way the world works, and my constant battle to deny reality was destroying me.
I began to realize that what I loved about games was in actuality a love of achievement. I preferred to watch matches or speed runs than to play myself, marveling at the display of skill, practice and knowledge. I saw that I exhibited my own abilities and worth in other areas, and that that's okay! I gave myself permission to be myself, I stopped secretly apologizing for not following the paths others had imagined for me, and I accepted the fact that life isn't a neat little package that starts with four idle workers and ends with a "gg." In some ways, I stopped living the dream of my 12-year-old self, and started living the dream of my soon-to-be 30-year-old self.
And so, I'm selling all of my video games, embracing who I am now instead of who I was or who I once hoped to be. I hope that their new owners can find the enjoyment in them I never did. I will still play the games I enjoy, and watch the video game heroes I admire; I'm a hero in other ways, and I'm okay with that. I encourage you to be vigilant that the expectations you are trying to live up to are your own, because in our world of media and marketing, if you don't have your own needs, desires and dreams, someone is always quick to provide you with them.
Thanks for reading, and if you find enjoyment in collecting vintage, classic and rare console games, check out my ebay auctions, I'm adding new stuff all the time:
My ebay video game auctions!
I'd also love to hear others' experiences with video games throughout life. It's interesting how something we all love and have loved has affected us in profoundly different ways.
Prescott
